


Role Model

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Middle School, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4300179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dino is expecting an empty room. It’s too quiet, he thinks, no one could possibly be so deathly silent that he wouldn’t hear some kind of response. But there is of course one person who could be, and is, and who raises his eyes from the book on his lap to fix Dino with a steel-sharp stare as the door creaks open." Dino visits Hibari at school and finds what he's looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Role Model

In his defense, Dino  _did_  knock twice before he tried the door handle.

It seemed the least he could do in an attempt to preserve his survival. He’s unarmed, after all -- he can hardly maintain his cover as a teacher with a whip at his belt -- and interactions with Kyoya are ever a balance between violence and desire, the two existing so near each other it’s sometimes hard for Dino to tell which will triumph in the end. But he does value his life, which is why he knocks. It’s not until there’s been a complete lack of response from inside that he reaches for the handle, turning the latch and easing the weight open so he can peer inside.

He’s expecting an empty room. It’s too quiet, he thinks, no one could possibly be so deathly silent that he wouldn’t hear some kind of response. But there is of course one person who could be, and is, and who raises his eyes from the book on his lap to fix Dino with a steel-sharp stare as the door creaks open.

Dino briefly considers his options. The first, most obvious one, is to back quietly out of the door again, let it swing shut and retreat down the hall to relative safety. That would be the reasonable thing to do, given the irritation fixed firm along Kyoya’s mouth. His second option, the worst by far, is to make some inane excuse, try to pass off what he’s doing as something other than deliberately seeking out Kyoya’s presence. It’s still safer than the third option, Dino knows, but Kyoya’s eyes are hotter than a flame and his own impulses more predictable than a moth’s, and when he moves it’s to step towards the danger instead of away from it.

“Kyoya,” Dino allows himself to say, the fluid syllables purring off his tongue into something he suspects to be indecent in spite of his attempts to keep his voice level. “I was looking for you.”

“I didn’t answer,” Kyoya says. The book is still open on his lap but he’s not looking at it; Dino’s not actually sure the other has blinked since he came into the room, even the click of the door swinging shut behind him insufficient to knock a flicker of lashes from Kyoya’s composure. Kyoya’s gaze slides down Dino’s body, scoping out the loose fall of his hands and the unsteady angle of his shoulders, and Dino can feel his skin light up as if he’s been touched, as if he’s standing there stripped bare instead of fully dressed.

“What are you wearing,” Kyoya asks finally, putting words to the judgment clear in his eyes.

Dino looks down. There’s nothing  _wrong_  with what he has on -- dark slacks, a shirt buttoned to his collar. He even has a tie, and a vest over that and his shirt, even Kyoya can’t claim he’s indecent. “Is there something wrong with them?”

The book comes shut. By the time Dino is looking up Kyoya’s lap is clear, the book set on the table at his side, his hands relaxed against the couch but somehow threatening even in the easy curve of their fingers. He still doesn’t look like he’s blinked.

“You’re indecent,” he says without moving from where he’s sitting. “It’s the duty of the teachers to serve as a model for the students under them.” A drag of eyes again, flickering over Dino while Kyoya’s mouth shivers at the edge of curling into a sneer. “You’re slovenly.”

Dino’s eyebrows go up, a startled laugh coughing free of his throat before he can think. “ _Slovenly_?” He looks down again but nothing has changed, he’s still as completely dressed as he was before. “What part of this offends you?”

He means for it to be teasing, sarcasm biting over his tongue like too-dark chocolate or the tang of wine. But there’s affection at his lips to cast a dampening effect on the words, and when they break free they’ve gone gentle into something far closer to sincerity than Dino ever intended.

Kyoya lifts a hand. It’s a slow movement, too languid to be intended as a threat, and when he gestures Dino in with two fingers it’s just as slow, like he’s nearly bored with the action. Kyoya’s eyes are drifting away, his attention slipping to something outside the window in the time it takes Dino to approach, and it’s not fair that he should be so abstracted when Dino is flushing brighter and hotter with every step in.

Kyoya doesn’t look back up until Dino comes to a stop mere inches in front of him, uncertain how close he is meant to come, whether the brief motion of fingers was simply to urge him nearby or actually an invitation towards contact. But when he hesitates Kyoya looks back, as snap-quick as Dino’s absent weapon, and slender fingers are coming out to catch fists at the bottom edge of Dino’s vest.

“This.” Kyoya’s touch slides up, pushing deliberate force up against the thin fabric of Dino’s shirt, and Dino can’t breathe for the heat in his veins, the fire lancing out into him with more force than pain from Kyoya’s touch. “Your vest isn’t straight.” A tug, a push of fingertips at slippery fabric, and Kyoya’s urging the shirt free of Dino’s slacks. Dino’s still not completely sure if he’s in for a beating or a blowjob, is weighing the probabilities as best he can, but then there’s cool skin sliding up against his waist and he finds, very suddenly, that he doesn’t care.

“And your shirt is hardly tucked in.” Kyoya’s closer; Dino didn’t even see him lean in but he’s sitting up straighter, tipping in so near his breath ghosts warm over the other’s shirt. Dino exhales, hard enough that it turns into a whimper, and Kyoya glances up at him, eyes still deadly dark and lips still carefully, intentionally still.

“You’re a bad influence,” Kyoya says, the words condemnation on his lips, and his fingers sink in at Dino’s hips, drag sharp and sudden to pull him down. Dino’s not expecting the force, has no stability to resist it, and without anyone else in the room but Kyoya he lacks the dexterity to catch himself. He drops instead, his balance caving from under him as instantly as if Kyoya had delivered a blow to the back of his knees, and then he’s kneeling on the floor, flailing a hand out to catch himself at Kyoya’s shoulder.

Everything is breathlessly still for a moment. Dino is tipped in close, his fingers closing hard on Kyoya’s shoulder through the clean lines of his school uniform vest and shirt; this near he can see the careful flicker of Kyoya’s eyelashes, the blink that says Dino’s not enough of a threat to be watched, and for a moment he thinks Kyoya’s mouth may be softening, his lips may be parting into expectation or suggestion.

Then one of the hands leaves his hip, Kyoya says, “Get your hands off me” with all the purr of seduction, and a fist slams so solidly into Dino’s chest that his lungs seize up on breathing for a moment. He falls back, his hold giving way so he can clutch at his aching chest instead, and by the time he gasps an inhale Kyoya’s hand is tangled into his hair, another dragging the plastic frames of his glasses free.

“Your hair is a mess, too.” A shove, none-too-gently against the ruffled strands, and then fingers trailing against his throat, the push of predatory threat against Dino’s pulse point, and he’s abruptly so hard he can’t see straight. His head goes back farther without urging, his throat working itself over a groan, and there’s the faintest impression of a laugh thrumming through the air, like Kyoya is making the shape of the sound without the exhalation.

“You should know better than to offer your throat to me,” he observes. His touch slides down, drags against the top of Dino’s collar and down over the knot of the other’s tie. “I thought you were better than that.”

“I just like a challenge,” Dino says, making no attempt to hold back the smile of anticipation sweeping over his features.

Kyoya hums a noise of disapproval, all vowels and judgment in his throat, and Dino’s tie slides loose of his vest, giving way to the other’s tug against the silken fabric. Kyoya doesn’t slide the knot loose; instead he winds the length of it around his palm, curls his fingers into a hold on the loop, and Dino can see where this is going well before Kyoya pulls to urge him forward.

“A challenge,” Kyoya repeats back, his tone less angry than it is amused. It should be a threat -- the shadow on his tongue is nothing but danger -- but all Dino notices is the purr underneath, the smoke of suggestion forming itself into an invitation. Kyoya tugs at the tie, far enough that Dino has to reach out to brace himself with a hand against the couch to keep his precarious balance. When he looks up those eyes are fixed on him still, all Kyoya’s attention pinned on his features, and while he’s still smiling in recognition of this victory Kyoya raises an eyebrow, quirks the corner of his mouth,  _finally_ , into the beginnings of a smile.

“Well?”

It takes Dino longer than it should to interpret the invitation of the word. It’s not that it’s unclear; it’s more that the cost if he’s wrong is enormous, far too much to leap to hasty assumptions. So he hesitates, turns the idea over once and then twice, and it’s not until Kyoya slouches back against the couch to tilt his hips forward that Dino is certain he’s right.

He makes up for his delay with haste. Kyoya is still smirking, dangerous amusement still lingering on his features when Dino rocks himself forward, braces his weight on his elbows so he can reach for the other’s belt with both hands at once. Everything on Kyoya’s body is in alignment when he reaches out -- the dark of his uniform vest sweeps cleanly into the black of his slacks, the leather of his belt a perfect match for the crisp-lined pants. Then Dino gets his hands against the fabric, and all the clean lines rumple at once, the slacks sliding enough to bare a strip of blinding-white shirt as he drags the buckle open without care for its appearance. In other situations he would get condemnation for this, verbal at best or physical at worst; it’s rare enough for Kyoya to let Dino do the undressing for him, nigh unheard-of for him to allow this sort of casual disregard for his clothing. But he’s leaning heavily against the support of the couch, his knees sliding open as Dino rushes through his movements, and if that weren’t enough to give away his interest the shape of his cock hard and hot through his slacks would do it.

His physical reaction is the only cue Dino has to go on. There’s nothing by way of words, no sound in the other’s throat; when Dino chances a glance up Kyoya is just watching him, his eyes as steady and inscrutable as ever. But his lips are parted, just barely, there’s perhaps a flicker of tension in his jaw, and that’s enough to draw a grin to Dino’s face as he gets Kyoya’s fly open. Kyoya’s expression doesn’t shift at that, either, but the hand gripping Dino’s tie tugs, a sharp burst of pressure that makes Dino laugh irrepressible delight before he ducks his head to push Kyoya’s clothes open and slide his cock free.

Dino doesn’t look up. Past experience says that Kyoya doesn’t take kindly to what he considers teasing, and further that pausing at this point to check for heat in the stare Dino can feel fixed against him would be considered precisely that. So he commits instead, presses his hands to Kyoya’s knees to steady himself, and when he comes in it’s with lips parted to let the other’s cock slide in against his tongue.

Dino’s expecting the upward tilt of Kyoya’s hips, the burst of action instinctive and completely unhindered by his hands at the other’s knees. It keeps him still through the movement, shutting his eyes to focus on the salt-slick move of Kyoya’s cock into his mouth, and as Kyoya drops back to the couch Dino leans in closer, slides his hands up higher so he can feel the tremble of sensation running up the inside of Kyoya’s thighs. It’s not restraint -- he knows better than to try that -- but just connection, a way to read Kyoya’s reaction without trying to angle for a glimpse through the fall of his hair. This way he can feel the flex of response, the anxious arch of Kyoya’s hips in time with the slide of his mouth, the way Kyoya goes breathlessly taut when Dino tightens his mouth and sucks hard as he slides back. They’re attuned like this, as in sync with each other as the dance that is their combat, until Kyoya’s motions and Dino’s rhythm blur into a single entity. Everything goes hot, until the tug at Dino’s tie and the fist in the curls of his hair are white-noise background to the heat at his lips and the salt on his tongue and the thrumming expectation of his heartbeat in his throat.

Kyoya is nearly silent when he comes, as he always is; this time it’s a sigh, the satisfaction in the breathless gust of air as telltale as the spill of liquid against the back of Dino’s throat. Dino doesn’t pull away as he swallows, lets his movement slow rather than abruptly cease, and by the time he goes still Kyoya’s legs are relaxed under his palms, the pressure at his tie is slack and sated.

“Enough,” Kyoya says after a moment, matching the words to a push against Dino’s hair. Dino pulls back, taking a breath and licking bitter-sticky off his mouth while Kyoya lets his hold on tie and hair go so he can straighten his clothes back around his hips. By the time Kyoya is tidied again Dino is tense all through his body, anxious with desire and uncertain as to the possibility of reciprocation, and he’s not sure if he should ask or plead or--

“Get up here,” Kyoya says, and Dino moves instantly, flinging himself towards the couch so fast he trips over his feet and more falls than lies down. It’s Kyoya’s grace that saves them from a collision, the other dodging smoothly aside as if he expected the fall, as perhaps he did; Dino’s not the only one who’s been gaining experience, after all. There’s a hand at Dino’s knee, pushing his leg wide and over the edge of the furniture as he twists over onto his back, and then Kyoya’s  _there_ , dark eyes considering Dino’s expression from the level of his untucked shirt.

“Oh,” Dino says, too tense with anticipation to even attempt to wipe the startled pleasure from his voice. “Kyoya, you--”

“Would you like a gag as well as a leash?” Kyoya asks with every appearance of sincerity. Dino blinks, considers the implications of this question, and chooses the wiser course of action, that of shutting his mouth and letting Kyoya do what he wants.

As it turns out, what Kyoya wants is remarkably near to Dino’s own preferences. Kyoya’s fingers make quick work of his clothes, unzipping his slacks nearly before his button is loose, curling in under Dino’s clothing to pull it down and off his hips by inches more than is necessary. Kyoya doesn’t look away throughout the process; his hands are moving on their own, regardless of his gaze, which is still holding and pinning Dino still and breathless between a threat and a promise.

Dino wonders, for a moment, if Kyoya intends to jerk him off, to maintain that cool-steady stare so he can watch Dino go to pieces under his touch. The idea isn’t unpleasant -- Dino has spent hours appreciating the slender grace of Kyoya’s hands, the deceptive strength in their efficient movements, and the idea of Kyoya’s eyes on him is enough to flush him harder on its own, as if he needed any further encouragement. But there’s only a moment of contact, fingertips trailing out against the heated weight of his cock, and then Kyoya’s eyelashes come down to shadow his cheeks, his head dips down as his mouth comes open, and then it’s his lips slicking down again Dino’s cock instead of his fingers.

Dino doesn’t fall back to the couch. He  _does_  groan, long and low and appreciative, and for his trouble he gets fingers digging painful-hard against his hips to brace him in place with the reminder to be quiet. But it’s hard to remember, hard to keep his mind on anything when he’s watching Kyoya’s dark head move down over him, when he can see the flush of lips pressed in against him every time the other pauses in the easy rhythm of his movements. He’s surging hotter, his body trembling under Kyoya’s immoveable hold, and he wishes he could make this last longer but he can taste Kyoya on his lips, and Kyoya’s tongue is slipping slick against him, and he can’t look away and he can’t fight back the heat burning through him. It’s too much tension, arching taut in his back and hot in his blood, and then Kyoya comes down as far as he can, hums something low and purring around Dino, and everything goes to pieces. Dino moans something absurd, maybe an endearment and probably just Kyoya’s name, sweet as chocolate at the back of his tongue, and Kyoya glances up to meet his gaze just as Dino’s vision flickers electric white for a moment. Nothing matters, not the pressure at his hips or the mess of his clothes around him; there’s just Kyoya, the heat of his mouth and the friction of his tongue, and Dino trembles through the pleasure of it as helpless as he ever is to the other.

He falls back against the cushions at some point, though he doesn’t remember when. He does notice Kyoya pulling away, the careful suction of his mouth as he sucks Dino clean, and then movement, a shadow coming up over him until he blinks and it’s Kyoya looking down at him in place of the light overhead.

Dino doesn’t speak. He’s not sure he remembers how, exactly, is very sure coherency of a variety acceptable to Kyoya is beyond him now. But his silence appears to pass, enough that Kyoya’s expression holds its considering neutrality as he looks down at the tangle of clothes around Dino’s body.

“As I said,” he says, the careful enunciation of a judge. “Slovenly.”

Dino laughs. He can’t help it, has no control over the spill of overheated amusement that bubbles up his throat. He’s too pleased, knocked out of himself and coherency both by the dark in Kyoya’s eyes, by the knife edge of his lips. Kyoya blinks at him, eyes trailing across the warm joy of his features; and then he smiles, deadly and vicious and perfect, the expression a shadow that turns his eyes infinite.

When he leans down to press his mouth to Dino’s, Dino can taste fire between them.


End file.
